Brave New Debacle
by My Vantilene
Summary: After Claire threw herself off the Ferris wheel, she learns the path she's chosen is a little risky. When she spends a night at Peter's for protection, she awakens to find a similar man with a scar and a request that they team up to save present-day Peter
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: If you are looking for Tim Kring, you have come to the wrong place.

_This story is dedicated to my AMAmazing friend who, as I type, is concocting some awesome artwork for me. I'm not sure if she has a FF account, or if she'd like to have her name in this at all, so…yeah. Enjoy the story. _

* * *

Five years gone.

Wasted.

Trashed.

Five years spent on dreams of the past that morphed into nightmares of the future, inevitably coming to turn on its creator.

Everything lost; everything they had done was done in vain.

Five years that did not glorify, or even merely justify, the measures they took to keep this world safe. They weren't heroes. No, those glory days had been exactly that— days. It was gone before anyone could enjoy it. They were terrorists, now; everyone wanted for a different crime "Nathan" decided they committed. Claire was forced into hiding. Mr. Bennet was trying his best to be the next Harriet Tubman, and who knew how long that was going to last until they found out. Niki had to become Jessica in order to survive. Parkman turned. Sylar had killed Nathan and taken up his persona. Ando was dead. Hiro had grown cold. D.L. was dead. Micah was gone. Suresh was deceived. And Peter lost the luxury of his upbeat, head-in-the-clouds disposition, and all that was left of his nagging sense of destiny were the gruesome memories of him exploding, the ones that replayed every time he was asleep. The night before, however, a dream held the place of the repetitive nightmare. It was him and Claire— blonde Claire. But the dream was merely a taunt to him, for he had not dreamt the future in so long and Claire, as far as he knew, was still missing. Maybe even dead. And the worse part? Sylar was winning.

It was getting hot in the boxed-in hallway, and who knew how long Suresh could keep that door shut. He got a glimpse of the blonde Claire again as he brandished a wave of fire that didn't even faze the power-hungry serial killer. And it didn't help much with the heat problem, either. The saying, if you can't take the heat, stay out of the kitchen flashed through his mind for a moment as he dodged a frost-bite touch from the faux-president's hand. If this continued, they might even have another nuclear explosion. Peter recognized this matter, as well as he did the younger Hiro and the breathing Ando on the other side of the metallic door. There could be no way to ensure their safe passage back to their own time—

unless…

Peter grabbed Sylar and closed his eyes tightly in concentration.

* * *

After Claire's plummet off of the Ferris wheel, the whole throng that had formed around her was thrown into chaotic pandemonium. Most people were screaming and hollering, some fainted, echoes of "Did you get that?" emanating from reporters communicating with their camera men arose, and a handful of people stayed pretty calm, some even with smiles upon their faces, and Peter was barely paying any attention to Gabriel's murmurs of a brave new world, as he saw a man with a trench coat creep unusually close to the regen. He reached for something in his pocket with a malevolent gleam in his eye. Peter opened his mouth. He pulled out a gun to shoot Claire, with the intent to see if she could really heal herself, or if this was just some hoax. And Peter knew that she could heal. She would be fine. She'd just brush off the bullet and then the man would have his answer. But for some odd reason, Peter found himself rushing toward them, and jumping in front of the speeding bullet. A beading pain bubbled in him and warm blood swept over his chest as the bullet took the place of where his left atrium was. A burst of compression overwhelmed him and after a spurt of air was involuntarily knocked out of his throat, his breathing became raspier and raspier. He didn't feel himself landing on the gravel path, or the rocks causing grooves in his skin.

"Peter!" Claire cried out as the world splotched out of conscious reach. His vision was marked up so badly, he could see no more. Yet another voice still rang clear in his ears.

"Peter! Take healing! Take it!" With a jolt, his eyes shot open and he felt something warm in his hand. Whatever it was, he clenched tighter in panic, extracting whatever it held. It was soft and radiated warmth, with small appendages curving off the center of it. He realized it was a hand and, in all actuality, was empty. But there was still something there to be taken. It surged through his veins, heightened his senses, and vividly shone, giving him a swelling sort of power. He stood up, gave Claire a comforting smile, and her hand a reassuring squeeze. His smile then turned eerie and flippant as he directed it toward the man with the gun.

"Satisfied?" he scoffed, "As far as I'm sure the state of New York is concerned, that was an attempt of murder."

"T-t-that's not possible!" he sputtered in disbelief. But he quickly got over his shock, fast enough to realize that what he had done really was an attempt of murder, and ran in the other direction, attempting to disappear into the crowd.

"Thanks, Peter."

"Don't thank me yet. We still have to get you out of here." He claimed, his voice carrying a dark undertone. He grabbed her arm, and they both ran for it as hollers and dozens of camera flashes heralded their exit.

It was ironically at Kirby Plaza that they stopped running. Peter rested his back against a meter (another irony being that this was the same meter Sylar used to knock Peter), and Claire sat at the edge of the fountain, both regenerators, from across a few feet of pavement, stared at each other as their breath slowed.

"Do you know what measures we've gone through to keep that from happening?" He surprised her a little with the chiding tone, but she could tell somewhere in it was a mix of relief and a joyous feel for freedom.

"Sylar seemed to like the idea." She muttered, almost under her breath.

"Gabriel." He corrected, "And he doesn't know what we've all been running from for all these years. Rene can't go back and take all of America's memories— or are we even just dealing with America now? Ireland, Italy, India, France, Japan! How many other countries know about us now? Do you know how much of a mess you've just caused? Huh? What on Earth were you thinking?"

"I was _thinking _about us." She paused for a moment before adding, "All of us. There are some people who don't get their abilities. Shouldn't we let them know there are others out there? Why not give them hope— understanding? There would be more Samuels that would want to make the world fear us. Wouldn't you rather expose us on our terms or theirs?"

"That wasn't on our terms." He walked over to where Claire was sitting and sat next to her, "That was on yours." He shook his head, "But for what it's worth, I'm kinda proud of you." He gave a half-smile, then punched her arm playfully, "It was still stupid, but…maybe Sylar—"

"Gabriel."

"Gabriel, right. Maybe he was on to something." He shook his head, "But why did it have to be you? Why not Hiro or Matt or Mohinder? They're going to come after _you_, Claire! Hiro can stop time; he can get away. Mohinder has his strength; he'd be fine. What can you defend yourself with?" he cupped her chin in his hand and her eyes flitted away from his face as she avoided his gaze, "What if someone decapitates you?" he inquired, his voice thinning, becoming softer than normal, "You know there's no coming back from that one."

"I'll be fine." She assured him with flickering confidence. Her lips eased into a sad smile and she shook her head, "And I have you, right? What's the worse that could happen to us?" she nudged him flippantly.

"You mean out of the stuff that hasn't happened already?" his face broke out in a half-smile.

"I guess this is the one corner of debacle we have yet to explore." She stood up, displaying the epitome of an oxymoron as pessimistic optimism shot off of her in spades. Waves of it even found their way to Peter as he hopped to his feet as well, taking her hand in a sudden burst of the paradox emotion.

"Why _don't we _explore?" he questioned with a smirk in his eye.

_AN:_

_I know, I know, Peter's being a little OOC, but that will be explained in later chapters which __**will **__be __**way**__ longer than this one was. It is currently 12:37 AM and I'm dead tired. So screw editing. And about Future!Peter and Future!Sylar? Imma have a little fun._


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: SURE.

_Yeah, sorry this took so long. I was playing Tekken with my brother for a few days straight. Savory stuff. Aaaaaaanyways…!_

Claire awoke to the hostile burn of harsh rays of sun filtering in through the blinded window. She shielded her eyes quickly and sat up with a jolt. That last night she spent with Peter flitted to mind and an evocative smile arose on her lips. They had toured around the city in one of those looking-to-get-kicked-out-of-Wal-Mart passions. It had been too much fun, but was a little exhausting, and quite hard to be able to do while not getting spotted by any media, so when they got back to Peter's apartment, they both just crashed.

"Gooooood morning!" she called, as she stretched her arms upward, releasing an involuntary yawn.

"I was wondering when you'd wake up." Claimed a dark voice. She nearly jumped when she turned around and saw the man standing at her bedside. It wasn't Peter, but someone eerily similar with only a scar running diagonally through the bridge of his nose to indicate any difference.

"P-peter?" He gave a curt nod and stared for a moment longer.

"Sorry. Where I'm from you're— never mind. It's not important. What is important is that we find your Peter and save him."

"My Peter?" she questioned, the phrase sounding…_punctual _to the taste.

"Yes. From your time. From what I can gather, it's apparent that he can only absorb one ability at a time. That true?"

She gave a frightened nod.

"Then this situation is even more dire than I had anticipated. If he absorbs Sylar's intuitive aptitude…or worse…" he shook his head, then turned sharply to the alarmed blonde.

"We need to find him. And fast."

"What do you mean? I don't understand…"

"Sorry." He gave a vivid smile, the darkness in his visage lifting immediately, almost as if that demeanor never existed, "Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Peter Petrelli of the future, today."

"But, what happened to my Peter?"

The urgency and worry etched into the question she pitched diminished his smile as quickly as it had come.

"The Sylar from my time period has him."

* * *

Peter never really needed an ability to punch that kid in his second period gym class. Or to punch Nathan. Or to punch Sylar. Or to punch Samuel. He was just good at aiming his fist in an affective manner by nature. He didn't need anything extra to do it, which was a good skill because right now he didn't have anything extra. It was evident the man in front of him had Rene's nullification ability, for Peter wasn't healing when the scalpel scraped his bare chest.

"Where is he?" inquired the man calmly, as he held the scalpel in a threatening manner.

"Fine. I see you're not talking. Hopefully you won't talk when I—" Out of nowhere, Peter's fists flew unwarrantedly at his captor, sending the hooded man skidding to the ground.

"Oh, you should've done _that_." He's utterly calm as a splitting pain rips through Peter's forehead, and he can feel the blood pouring down like a waterfall over a rocky ledge.

_AN:_

_Sorry, I'm an incredibly busy person. This was the best I could do for today, and I know it's been awhile. I've been working on The Rift which has over one hundred reviews, so I kind of gravitated towards updating that more…_


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